


It Could Be Worse

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom Dean, Collared Dean Winchester, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints, Top Sam, a case-fic in which no case is actively discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-01 07:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12151293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: “It could be worse,” Sam says, and Dean wants to hit him because no sooner are the words out of his mouth than Dean feels the first trail of slick dribble out of his hole.“Wanna bet?” he growls. His heat isn’t due for another month but of-fucking-course it’s gonna turn up early while he’s trapped in a tiny freezing hut in a blizzard.





	1. Dean

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this fic came about because I was interested in the logistics of A/B/O somewhere really really cold. How do omegas react when they can’t scent their mates? How do alphas initiate sex if they can’t get fully undressed? How would anyone get any work done in a remote research facility? (Honestly how does anyone get any work done in most ABOs though istg)

“It could be worse,” Sam says, and Dean wants to hit him because no sooner are the words out of his mouth than Dean feels the first trail of slick dribble out of his hole.

“Wanna bet?” he growls. His heat isn’t due for another month but of-fucking-course it’s gonna turn up early while he’s trapped in a tiny freezing hut in a blizzard.

“It could be worse” had become the motto for the whole freaking hunt. Right from the moment that Bobby had called them Dean had known it was going to go tits up.

The research station had only accepted mated pairs, and Sam and Dean were the only mated hunters nearby. (It could be worse, though. At least they could get hunters out there at all.)

The freaky demon radiation had come from the boundary camp in the most distant quadrant. (It could be worse, though. At least there was accommodation already set up out there.)

The glyphs that they found at the boundary camp had required translation that would take at least the whole night. (It could be worse, though. At least it wasn’t winter, when night lasted for most of the day.)

“Tell me,” Dean says, “tell me how this could be worse.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Sam soothes, and Dean goes hot and cold because a) he’s already _not fine,_ and b) Sam had used just a little bit of alpha in his voice and it was doing funny things to Dean’s insides. He swallows reflexively.

He knows he’s hard. He can feel it. But when he looks down there are so many layers in the way that he can’t even see the press of his erection. More slick leaks out of his hole and he whimpers. He needs Sam’s knot _already_ and its only been an hour.

Instinctively, he leans towards his alpha. They’re both so bundled up in thermal gear that he can barely get close enough. He wants to climb into his alpha’s lap. He wants Sam’s hands on his ass.

He can’t even _smell_ Sam, though. They’re both five layers deep. The boundary camp isn’t heated—not like Station HQ—and exposed skin is too dangerous when standing water freezes in a matter of minutes.

He whimpers again. He might as well be next to a giant ice block for all the good Sam’s proximity is doing. No alpha scent. No alpha knot. Fuck, not even his alpha’s hands. “Please,” he whispers, and hates how wrecked he sounds, just from the knowledge that Sam _can’t_ help. They’re both going to have to stay fully dressed.

At least Sam has some contingency plans.

He starts by getting Dean set up in front of the hieroglyphs, distracting him with the translations. Dean ignores the wet empty feeling in his ass and the way his skin is shrinking with need. He focuses on each glyph, one at a time. Rechecking. They make lists of what they’ll need to ask Bobby when they get back to a working phone. Dean knows he’s not doing a good job, he’s having a tough time just concentrating enough to even _see_ the damn things, let alone decipher them, but Sam doesn’t get mad. In fact, he encourages Dean. Tells him he’s doing well and of course that makes his head spin even harder. He wants to please his alpha _so bad._ He wants to prove how good he is. He wants to get Sam in his mouth, make him as wet as Dean is, then straddle him and fuck himself down. Quick. Slow. Doesn’t matter. He wants it, he wants it. Sam will hold his hips, his hair. Sam will pinch him. Probe. Lick. Sam will get his big alpha knot right up into Dean, right where he needs it most. Sam will make Dean come, will make him—

He forces himself back to the glyphs and grinds his teeth together to stop himself from begging.

It works for a few hours.

And then it doesn’t.

Dean likes to think that he’s pretty stoic. They’ve been on hunts during his heats before, and he can hold symptoms at bay just by knowing that Sam is nearby. That he’s going to get his alpha’s knot just as soon as the vamp or witch or whatever-the-fuck is dead.

But this is different. As far as his hormones are concerned Sam isn’t even in the same room. Dean can’t see his face behind the scarves and goggles. Can’t smell him. Can barely even hear him when the wind picks up and the blizzard really sets in. (“It’s not a blizzard, Dean, just a passing storm. We can leave in a few hours. It could be worse.”)

Sam does the best he can. Forces Dean to stay hydrated when the only thing Dean wants in his mouth is Sam’s cock. Forces Dean to stay distracted when the only thing Dean wants to look at is his mate’s naked body.

They make it almost half the night before Dean’s stomach cramps and he’s sobbing, begging Sam. “Gotta fuck me,” he moans. “Sam, _please._ ” He doesn’t even realise that he’s clawing at his own clothes until Sam’s grabbing at him, pushing him to the floor, tugging the layers back into place. Dean turns into jelly almost instantly. He can’t smell Sam but his body _knows_ the feeling of his mate on top of him, holding him down. It outweighs the burn of his skin where he had briefly been exposed to the air.

They make it another hour just like that. Sam stretched out on top of him and both of them pretending everything’s completely normal as they try to reread the hieroglyphs from their awkward positions.

The next wave of cramps has Dean curling up in agony, clutching at his stomach, begging Sam to make it stop. His outer jacket—the down parka—is velcroed at the wrists and when Sam starts pulling the velcro apart Dean is horrified but insanely excited. His alpha is going to take care of him. But Sam isn’t undressing him. He just pulls Dean’s arms behind his back and attaches the two wrists together. It’s not a strong restraint, but Dean has enough layers on underneath that movement is already fairly limited, and the extra hold is enough. If they’re attacked he can get himself free but until then the feeling of immobility keeps the other symptoms at bay. His alpha is keeping him steady.

They finish the translations and then there’s nothing to distract them as they wait for the storm to pass. Sam tries to convince Dean to go over them all again but Dean’s vision is going blurry and he wants to literally crawl into Sam. _Inside_ him. His brain isn’t even making sense of the images that it’s sending out and Dean can only gnaw at his lip, fighting arousal and pain. Sam starts a monologue. About Bobby. About the monster. What they’ll do when they find it. They’ll have to kill it before the next nightfall to make sure it can’t feed. Dean only half listens.

Things only get worse as time goes on. Sam starts whispering encouragements, telling Dean how beautiful he is. Things that Dean never likes hearing outside his heats. “Good omega.” “Precious.” “Doing so well.” Sam’s trying to get him in an omega headspace and it works, kinda. Dean closes his eyes and lets himself believe that they’ve just had sex. Sam is holding him. He’s being good. Sam gets an arm beneath them to dig the heel of his hand into Dean’s crotch. It’s not enough, but Dean appreciates the effort.

The howling wind dies away slowly, and Sam forces them to wait until they get the go-ahead from HQ to be outside. The AT44 is glaringly orange against the snow, and Dean has to shut his eyes against it as Sam bundles him into the passenger seat, buckling him in when Dean doesn’t make a move to do it himself. He holds his arms around his stomach as his organs threaten to migrate to the wrong side of his skin.

If asked, he would deny forever that he spends the entire drive just whimpering Sam’s name into the dashboard.

 

 


	2. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes care of his omega

The drive takes way too long, because of course the boundary camp they were in had to be the furthest one from Station HQ. Sam had been forced to put cotton up each nostril to stop himself losing control when the smell of Dean’s heat had permeated the car.

By the time they make it to HQ it’s well past midday and Dean is shaking. Sam needs to take care of him _right fucking now._ He stalks into the front room with Dean in tow, bringing a blast of flurrying snow in with him. One of the interns starts to ask a question, _did you touch the ice core equipment,_ but something in Sam’s face stops her and she quickly gets out of the way. As the smell of Dean’s heat becomes more pronounced, they get pitying looks from others in the front room. Dean’s fingers are clenched in the thick thermal fabric around his chest, and if Sam’s hand wasn’t gripping his forearm, he would probably already be stripping his top layers off. Sam wants Dean naked, too, but they’re still in the outer sector, and it’s freezing here. Not as warm as the inner rooms, near the generator.

Sam drags Dean further into the station, ignoring his brother’s breathy protests. They need to get to somewhere heated so Sam can get Dean undressed. They’ve only get a few hours until sunset and they need to find the monster before then.

Sam sets himself a limit of thirty minutes. Half an hour to sate Dean as much as possible before they get back to the hunt.

Someone has phoned ahead to warn of their approach, because one of the med team meets them halfway, directing Sam to the central room where the generator’s warmth is strongest. _Unexpected heat? First door on the left._ The generator is powerful enough to keep the whole place running, with enough residual heat to make the station liveable even in the dead of winter. The room adjacent to the powerhouse is the warmest in the station, and is supposed to be for the medical staff, though it had long since been co-opted for the use of mated pairs.

There are others in here already. Behind curtains and even in the open. Finding release in each other in the only room where they can safely remove some of their clothing. They’re mostly still dressed, though. Forced by modesty and the residual chill to keep at least a few layers on. Every omega is wearing a collar, too, since only betas or mated pairs are permitted to conduct research here.

Sam glances at a clock on the wall. They don’t have time to spare.

He tugs Dean closer. “Strip,” he orders. Dean is obeying before the word even finishes, scrabbling at the zips and Velcro and buttons that are keeping the thermal gear in place. Panting and whining. His fingers are trembling and Sam wants to do it for him, wants to rip the offending garments away himself, but he has other things he needs to do first. Even now, with his mate leaking _need_ , Sam has to put the safety of everyone else first. It’s not the first time he’s been forced to protect civilians when he’d rather be fucking Dean. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says. Puts a kiss on Dean’s newly exposed cheek when he whines. “Get yourself prepared.”

It only takes him a few minutes to find everything he needs, but he’s practically sprinting as he heads back to the room. When he slips inside he can’t help his flood of arousal. Dean’s scent is _thick._ He feels like he has to swim through it. He knows it’s stronger for him, but it still surprises him that the other people in the room are reacting only slightly unsettled, as though Dean’s heat is a minor inconvenience. To Sam it feels like a fucking beacon. An emergency call. SOS via smell. He’s across the room before he even realises he’s moving, hands on Dean’s arms, his hips. Dean is whining at him, clawing at his clothes, barely functional after only a few minutes of Sam’s absence. He's left his last layer on. Thermal skins that cling to his body.

“I told you take it all off,” Sam murmurs, tugging at the waistband, and even though he’s heat-flushed Dean still manages to pink at the cheeks. He glances at the other people in the room and Sam has to grab his chin to get his attention. “Strip,” he orders again, infusing his voice with alpha, only half intentional. Dean shivers and obeys, heat bending him to Sam’s will, and he’s finally naked, only the leather collar left. His skin pimples not from the cold but from Sam’s hands and the appreciative eyes of some of the other occupants. He’s gorgeous. Freckles right down his back. Pale skin beneath. Omega hips and the curve of his ass where Sam most wants to bury himself.

He would have liked to pull Dean into a secluded corner, but he glances at the clock again and bites his lip. They'll have time for more later, when the monster is dead. Right now Sam needs to give Dean as much alpha as he can, as quickly as possible. He grabs at the collar and drags Dean into the centre of the room, where a table is set up near a wall.

“Sam,” Dean whispers, lagging. His shoulders are hunched but he’s following anyway. Trusting his alpha. Forced to submit by their time constraints and by Sam’s implacable hand, his fingers hooked into the leather around his neck. They're between different groups, now, and Sam can stake his claim with others watching. Not his usual cup of tea but it'll soothe the heat, get Dean pliant.

“Mine,” Sam says, loudly, and the closest alphas nod though they don’t turn away. They are being permitted to watch. Their omegas try to reclaim their attention.

Dean whines when Sam repeats himself. “I’m yours,” he whimpers, “Sam, alpha, I’m yours.” It’s like a drug. Claiming him like this with the other alphas watching. The omega side of him submitting like butter in the sun. Melting himself to Sam’s side.

Sam is rougher than he’d like, twisting Dean around, a quick bite to his neck. Hands in his hair. Tug pull. Fingers on his nipples. Getting him hot. Waking him up. The other alphas lick their lips and Dean is writhing with it. Being claimed by his mate with spectators only a few feet away. His heat is like a living thing, latching on to Sam and to the very _air._ Making it hard to breath.

Sam shoves him forward. “Under the table,” he growls. He pulls a chair over so that his back is against the wall and Dean’s ass is visible for the rest of the room as the omega crawls between his legs. There are rivets and hooks interspersed along the wall behind him, and it takes him a moment to find a position where he won’t accidentally knock himself on anything. When he’s comfortable he gets a hand beneath the table and draws Dean forward. “Get me hard,” he orders. Unnecessarily, perhaps. He’s been half-hard since the first shot of Dean’s scent. But he wants Dean’s mouth on him anyway. Wants his omega to get as much of him as possible.

A couple in the corner watch Dean’s movements beneath the table. The female is cooing to her alpha and they’re both rutting slowly, enjoying things. Sam doesn’t stop his glare, or the possessive tinge to his scent. Dean gasps it in and scrabbles at Sam’s clothing, digging through the layers. The table will keep most of the scent in, so Dean can bask in it. Get the alpha claim into his skin. Sam hopes it will be enough. It will need to tide Dean over until the morning.

When Dean finally gets his mouth around him he has to bite his lip. Dean is _so_ good at this. Just the way Sam likes it. Slow teasing licks to the head of him, gentle hand barely touching. Sam wants Dean to do this for hours, careful and delicate, but he checks the clock again and bites back a curse. He needs to sate Dean quickly, and he needs to do it well enough to keep Dean alert and responsive for tonight.

His hand is still beneath the table and he grabs the back of Dean’s head, moulding fingers to the familiar shape of his brother’s skull.

“Faster,” he orders, and pulls Dean forward, gets him gagging. The whole alpha length of him slipping past Dean’s reflexes and down his throat. Dean makes a strung-out noise, high, and it’s not their usual speed, way too fast, but Dean’s heat is making him pliant. Making him swallow deeper. The omega scent ratcheting up as it finally gets what it needs.

Sam can already feel his knot responding to that need, but they won’t have time for more than one coupling and he needs to make it worthwhile. He desperately wants to come right where he is. He wants his knot locked into Dean’s mouth, behind his teeth, forcing Dean to keep the whole length of him down his throat, swallowing each twitch. He wants Dean’s jaw stretched wide around him. Dean’s heat is the only time that they can manage it, but with a twinge of regret Sam knows they can’t do that now. It strains Dean’s jaw too far, stops him talking for days afterward. And they can’t risk that when they might need a spoken exorcism.

He distracts himself instead. He’s brought dad’s journal and the printed copies of what Bobby had sent them, and he forces himself to read them as Dean mouths at him, getting him deep. The frantic omega scent is settling as Dean suckles the precome out of him, and Sam has to dig his fingernails into his palm to stop himself losing control. His other hand is beneath the table, still. Alternating between soothing pets and sharp-hard tugs of Dean’s hair. Getting him mussed up only to flatten everything down again. Dean has one hand on Sam’s cock, and the other is behind him. Delving deep. From the smell of slick and the heated eyes of the room’s other occupants, Sam knows exactly what his brother is doing. Long thick fingers where Sam’s about to put his cock. His eyes almost roll back into his skull when Dean swaps hands, getting slick over Sam’s balls, only to lick them clean a moment later, humming deep. Fluid blurts from the head of his dick as he feels Dean’s tongue against him, and he makes sure to get that in Dean’s mouth, too.

Sam’s precome and his alpha smell do their work, and finally Dean’s scent stabilises somewhere near a normal level. Only slightly elevated. Sam could bring him back down completely with a few more hours of this but he doesn’t even need to look at the clock to know that they don’t have that kind of time.

He hooks a finger into the back of Dean’s collar and pulls him off and up, forcing him to slither up the length of Sam’s body to avoid hitting his head on the table. It leaves Sam’s cock wet and rock-hard, begging to fill his omega up. Dean slips his hand free and holds his slick-wet fingers to Sam’s face without even needing to be told. Sam sucks the fingers into his mouth one by one, licking the heady juices free as Dean trembles on top of him. Dean wriggles until Sam’s cock is lined up through the cleft of his ass, and Sam can feel the omega slick against his hard length.

“Alpha,” Dean whispers, voice somehow still high even after Sam’s cock has been down his throat. “Sam, please. I need you.”

“Patience,” Sam murmurs. He’s brought some nylon rope with him, and he quickly fastens Dean’s hands behind his back, forearm almost touching forearm. A pleasant stretch that will keep Dean’s shoulders back but won’t affect his aim later, if they find the monster. Dean is almost mindless with pleasure as Sam ties even higher. The trailing end of the rope finishes at Dean’s elbows, and Sam slips it through one of the metal loops in Dean’s collar, right at the back of his neck, forcing Dean’s arms up higher as he tugs it gently. Dean lets out a guttural moan and Sam kisses the sound of it from the corner of his mouth, though he’s not done yet. He ties the tail of the rope to one of the metal rings set in the wall behind him. When he tightens, Dean is forced to lean forward, his upper body resting on Sam’s chest. His face is pressed against Sam’s neck, ensuring every indrawn breath is suffused with alpha scent. He tests the give of his bindings, and can’t go anywhere. If he lifts his head his arms are pulled painfully upward, and if he tries to lower his shoulders the collar chokes him.

Sam feels the exact moment that this realisation hits Dean. His brother lets out a guttural sound that might have been Sam’s name, and falls limp into his alpha’s body. Sam wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and lifts him gently, slotting himself inside the slick-warm clench of his brother. He comes almost instantly, as though his knot had only been waiting for Dean. The first rush of his pleasure soaks deep into his omega’s body. They are quickly locked together, and Dean can’t move at all. Immobilised between Sam’s knot and his ropes. Sam’s alpha semen is sealed in, soothing the heat from the inside out.

Sam’s hands are still free, and he pulls one of Dean’s discarded coats over, draping it over his brother’s exposed shoulders. If Dean notices, he doesn’t react. He’s absolutely gone. If Sam could see his eyes he knows that they would be unfocused and distant. Mouth slack. Sam kisses his ear—the only part he can reach—and settles back to wait for Dean to re-emerge, drawing the printed articles closer.

It takes a little longer than usual. Their forced abstinence the night before keeps Dean under for almost fifteen minutes as the combination of Sam’s knot, his scent, and the ropes holding Dean in place, work to calm the fire of Dean’s heat.

Eventually Sam can feel his brother blinking into the skin of his neck, moving slightly. He quickly loosens the rope, easing Dean’s arms free and rubbing gently at his shoulders as feeling returns to his strained limbs.

Dean gasps and lets Sam manoeuvre him backwards until he’s sitting, mostly upright, straddling Sam’s thighs.

“Hey, baby,” Sam whispers. Dean wiggles where Sam’s cock is still wedged tight inside him. It sends another jet of come into Dean’s body.

Dean hums and rolls his shoulders. “Hey yourself,” he drawls, sated and low and calm. Sam scents at him carefully and Dean’s heat makes him want to start all over again, but it’s a background smell compared to Dean’s satisfaction and tired approval.

All of a sudden Dean’s eyes widen, and he jerks back to stare at the clock.

“Shit!” he swears. “We’ve got less than three hours til—”

Sam raises his hand. “Sorted,” he says, keeps his voice low so the others in the room can’t overhear. “I texted Bobby that central glyph and he found a reference for it. We’re looking for a cyclic feeder. Something that comes awake only once every decade. Killed by silver.”

“Oh great so now we’ve just gotta—”

“—find them,” Sam agrees. He snags one of the printed newspaper articles from the pile on the table and points to the cover photo. “Recognise her?”

It’s the intern, the one who greeted them at the door. Dean squints at her. She looks exactly the same as she did half an hour ago in the front room. But the article is forty years old.

Dean scowls. “Were you researching while we had sex?”

Sam grins into his neck, and nips at the skin just above the collar. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ll make it up to you later.” Dean wiggles and they both feel as Sam’s knot starts to finally subside. “Until then,” he says wickedly, “we need to keep this heat at bay so we can get to work.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean mutters, embarrassed now that he doesn’t have his omega hormones to make him needy.

“Better safe than sorry,” Sam tells him, pulling a translucent plastic plug out of his pocket. “We should make sure you’ve got as much alpha inside you as possible in case it takes a while to clean this mess up.”

“ _Sam._ ”

Sam’s knot slips free completely, and he follows it with the plug, worming it quickly into place so that only a small trickle of his semen escapes. He takes a brief moment to circle Dean’s rim, puffy and wet. Then he stands, pulling Dean to his feet as he goes.

“Ready to find ourselves a monster?”

Dean scowls at him, but he reaches for his trousers and the silver bullets hidden in the pockets. “You owe me like… a bazillion blowjobs after this.”

It’s a price Sam is very willing to pay.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They skillfully avoid answering questions about the missing intern by engaging in loud, obtrusive sex. Whenever someone asks them what they were doing at the time of the disappearance, Sam smiles sheepishly and shows them the plug and Dean is like "Babe stop it they don't wanna know about that."


End file.
